


The Meeting

by Mala (PatternWalker), PatternWalker



Series: Mala; Journey into Amber [2]
Category: Chronicles of Amber - Roger Zelazny
Genre: Blood, Cutting, F/M, Nudity, Oral Sex, Vaginal Sex, rough language
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-12-27
Updated: 2020-12-27
Packaged: 2021-03-10 19:42:06
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,077
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28352619
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/PatternWalker/pseuds/Mala, https://archiveofourown.org/users/PatternWalker/pseuds/PatternWalker
Summary: The day of battle between Dalt's forces and those of Amber arrives. Mala, swept up in the battle, uses the fighting techniques that she learned from Leon the Blacksmith, and is still standing as the battle nears its end. Putting down one last opponent, she discovers that the opposing general, Benedict of Amber is right behind her.
Series: Mala; Journey into Amber [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1397050





	The Meeting

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The day of battle between Dalt's forces and those of Amber arrives. Mala, swept up in the battle, uses the fighting techniques that she learned from Leon the Blacksmith, and is still standing as the battle nears its end. Putting down one last opponent, she discovers that the opposing general, Benedict of Amber, is right behind her.

The mounted fighter burst out of the woods. Damn it! I recognized him; this was one one of Dalt's. I bobbed and dodged, managed to evade his swing, and swung my sword to hamstring the horse. Hate doing that; I like horses. But I had recognized the rider, and if I didn't kill him, he'd kill me. And not cleanly. I swung around as he hit the ground and rolled to be clear of his thrashing horse. As he rose to his feet, I took a step, gripped the hilt with both hands and swung hard as I could at his neck. His arm came up in defense, and his hand came off at the wrist, spraying me with his blood. My sword stroke continued into the rider's throat, and came to rest caught in a vertebra. Lots more blood. He fell, and I stepped on his face, driving the bones of his nose into his brain, working desperately to disengage my bladeT as he bled out. I was suddenly aware that his horse had quit thrashing. Turning my head I saw a horseman, sword bloody, backing his mount away from the equine corpse. Shit! I tugged once more at my trapped sword.

"Leave it. You won't be needing it."   
I whirled, and found myself nose-to-nose with a horse as big as a Shire stallion, of a lovely silvery hue. The horse was eyeing me, but not, so far, attacking. Bestride the horse's back sat an armored man tall enough to look like he belonged there. As he moved his arm to hang his shield beside the saddle, his companions moved restlessly, and I saw a staff twined with flowers on the shield. Oh, damn, whose blazon was that? He shoved up his faceplate and a long, grim face surveyed me. I swallowed hard and stared back. I knew what he saw: female, 5'8", muscular side of lanky, short black hair, breastless in roomy tunic and trews. He glanced at his companions and nodded; a dismissal.

"General--" the one approaching on his right began, a note of urgency in his voice, but desisted as the general's gaze settled on him, then moved back with the other two until they were 10 or 15 feet behind their commander.

Lord Benedict’s keen eyes spotted the faded red tunic and once-black trews of the lanky young woman he’d seen on and off all day. Fighting against all for herself, it seemed. His gut tightened as she faced the horseman bearing down on her. Not to lose her now! His eyebrows rose in surprise as she dodged the horse’s charge at the very last moment, ducked under the horseman’s late swing, swung her sword to hamstring the horse—yes, left handed, all right—whirled and stepped and swung to intersect the rider as he came off the collapsing horse. He rolled and came up and whether by design or good fortune her sword took him across the throat. Dull, though; it was ripped out of her hands as he fell, to stand at an angle as he lay sprawled on his back. She moved to him, stepped on him and tried to wrest the sword from his vertebra, where it had undoubtedly lodged. After a minute, she shifted and brought her other foot down on the front of his face with force that suggested personal enmity.

Lieutenant Karsh, the youngest of his guard, detached and approached the screaming, panicked horse, edged close enough to dispatch it with a sword stroke and backed a couple of steps before turning away. Benedict saw the woman’s head come up and her efforts to retrieve her weapon took on a panicked urgency. He urged Glendemming up behind her, and spoke.

“Leave it, you won’t be needing it.”

She whirled, white showing all around her irises, and stared at Glendemming’s nose, her eyes slowly rising to Benedict’s face. He saw her swallow nervously as he slid his shield onto its rest and moved his arm stump to the saddle cantle. He glanced at his guard, two of whom obeyed automatically and moved a ways behind to give him privacy.

Young Karsh, returning from his grisly task, approached. “General?”

Benedict favored him with an arctic expression, and Karsh, defeated, withdrew to wait with the rest. Benedict knew what he was thinking, but this woman was no Chaos warrior; besides, Lintra was dead. and Benedict’s arm was regenerating apace. This woman would fit his needs well enough. He leaned forward. 

“I’ve been looking for you.”

"For me." I stared up at the armored man. I must be radiating ‘wary.’

"Yes." He shifted slightly, though his eyes never left my face. "I wish to proposition you."

My eyes flicked automatically to the three horsemen behind him.

"No. This has nothing to do with them. You and me, only."

"And you are asking?" I was finding it hard to breathe.

"I prefer my sex partners willing."

I considered that a moment. "And I prefer being willing. And asked. So, yes." Shit, what was I getting myself into? But just maybe he would not simply dump me in the middle of camp when he was done with me if I could give him a good enough time. And if I looked at things realistically, it wasn't like I had many other options at the moment.

"Come here, then, and I will take you up before me."

I thought about the knives I still carried. I didn't want to give them up, but even less did I want him to find them on me when he started checking me out.

"Lord--?" He was obviously one of the Princes.

"Benedict will suffice."

Oh. Shit. The martial arts master. Said to be more dangerous than any other, even with half of one arm gone. Described as driven and oft bad-tempered. But not sadistic, that I had heard, unlike his brother Julian, whose legendary excesses terrified my fellow camp followers. Yeah. I really needed to give him the knives.

"Benedict. How do I give you my knives without your escort assuming that I am attacking you?"

I saw amusement in his face as he looked me over. "You have one on your belt. Are the others at your ankles?" 

"Just one. Left the other one in an opponent." I made a face. "Having bad luck with that today."

His lips twitched, and he asked, "You have a total of two?"

"Yes, s--Benedict."

"Hand them up in their sheaths."

I went down on one knee, then the other and unbuckled both ankle sheaths, stood and moved to hand them to him over his horse's shoulder, unbuckled my belt and slipped the dagger and sheath off, handed that up to him as well and rebuckled my belt. Now that I had slowed down, I was more aware of impending exhaustion and less than fluid in my movements, and stumbled as I moved down the side of his horse and looked up at him.

"Turn around," he ordered. I did as he commanded, and he leaned down, lifted me like thistledown and sat me directly before him. His grip on my right side was higher and felt odd; oh, yeah, no hand and only a partial forearm on the right side. Barely room between him and the pommel of his war saddle. And, "Oh!" I suddenly realized that I was half sitting on his erection.

"You thought my interest theoretical? Hardly."

"This can scarcely be comfortable for you." 

"And you can barely walk. I shall manage. Lean back and rest; your day is not yet done." 

As he urged his mount into motion, his escort cautiously closed in, one slightly ahead of us and two trailing.

After a few minutes' ride, Benedict asked me, "Your name?"

"Mala--it means something like 'pattern' in Icelandic.” I sighed. “And a lot of other things, like a cat’s purring sound. Grandmother said that calico cats were ‘mala’, which means patterned, I guess, ‘cuz they’re patches all over. And I was ‘mala’ because she and my father and I all look so much alike that it’s like we were all cut from the same pattern.”

"Indeed... How did you come to be here?"

"Ah...Dalt came to my...Shadow, I guess... to round up some sort of materiel for his frickin' war, and I just happened to be the lucky person that he carjacked to get back here in a hurry. Well, not here--to where his camp was at the time. We got all the way to the camp, and he gets out and goes into his logistics tent, and leaves me sitting in the car. I got out, followed him in and asked him for directions back to where I came from. He gave me this thoroughly indifferent stare, and said, 'You'd need a guide, and I don't have the time.' I got as far as 'Godsdammit…' and he grabbed me by the arm, hauled me out of the tent, pointed west and said, "The camp followers are over there. Go get acquainted, because that's where you'll be.” I was still full of objections, and he leaned down and snarled in my face, 'Don't piss me off,' shoved me away, releasing his grip on me, turned on his heel and went back into the tent. The naked rage in his face convinced me," my voice went tight at the memory, " that the topic had better be closed. So I did as I was told and spent the last three months trading sex and manual labor for food, clothing and martial arts instruction, so that I might have a chance of living through this war he was waging." I sighed. "I guess I did all right until you found me."

"Yes."

"You saw me?"

"Several times." Pause. "You have a respectable collection of dirty tricks."

"Like?"

"Wounding the horses."

"Yeah, I can see you might not like that."

"You mistake me. I think it an excellent infantry tactic." He paused. "Not that I would want it to happen to Glendemming, mind you." He absently patted the silvery coat.

It took about half an hour to get back to his camp. There was already more than a bit of celebrating happening, alongside patrols bringing in prisoners and wounded. He set me down, and I had to grab Glendemming’s mane to steady myself. The horse eyed me, I apologized to him, and I guess he accepted the apology, as he turned his head away and didn't try to bite, trample or kick me. Benedict dismounted and put a hand on my shoulder. "Go into the tent," he ordered, then turned to talk to the tent guards. I went.

The tent, a lot like one of the fancy medieval tents with two roof poles, appeared to serve both as a logistics tent and as his personal quarters. Bedroll at the back edge, undeployed. A large table spread with maps and pointers and markers, a stack of armless chairs, and a sturdy wooden armchair fitted with cushions. My inspection was curtailed by Benedict's entrance. "Strip," he ordered as he passed me, and I remembered why I was there. For a moment, I had trouble breathing. 

I started disrobing, and heard the clank of armor and an irritated expletive. Looking over at my host, I asked, "Would you like assistance, Benedict?"

He shot me an annoyed glance, then tilted his head like a curious crane, and said, "Yes, I believe I would." 

I moved topless across the tent to assist him and found that one of the cordage points for his armor had frayed and tangled during the battle. "Bad tie; that will need replacing before you wear it again--it's tangled all to hell." I borrowed his knife, cut the tie and helped him shed the armor, then I stepped in, unbuckled the gambeson he wore beneath it, and helped him out of it. He thanked me, and I crossed back to continue my own disrobing.

When I had stacked my clothes near the tent wall, I turned to see him standing beside one of the armless chairs, holding an arm binder. Erk. Well, onward...not like I hadn't agreed to an open ticket for the evening. As I approached him, he did that head tilt and smiled slightly. "You look apprehensive."

"Yes, sir," I replied, forgetting his initial instruction.

"Trust me." Well, I was just about to, wasn't I? I turned my back to him and clasped my hands behind my back, arms straight.

"You've worn one before," he observed.

"Yes, sir."

He settled the binder over my hands and under my arms, straps over my shoulders then gripped the body of it and my upper arms in his right arm. His left hand secured the fastenings. Scent wafted to me; horse, stale sweat, and him. Oh, the ‘him’ part smelled good…He led me to the chair and sat in it. "Slide yourself onto my erection," he told me. Wow, yeah; it looked really inviting, although likely longer than I could accommodate comfortably in this position. But I could feel quite substantial horniness surfacing, and I expected that I might soon get to the point where I wanted to have my cervix hammered. I guessed that my body was happy to still be alive.   


And then, he touched my cunt and it took my breath away. I was nowhere close to virginal, but his touch on my genitals made me feel very young and quite vulnerable. Helpless. He eased the head of his penis past my rather baroque labia surprisingly easily, as I seemed to be extremely well-lubricated. Huh; who would have thought that being propositioned on the battlefield would turn me on? Live and learn, I thought as I carefully lowered myself down, his left hand bracing me as I went. The intensity of penetration drove a moan from me, and Benedict said, "Look at me." He watched my face as I lowered myself, a neutral expression on his own, though I could feel his erection twitch. When I was fully seated, he lifted me almost off his penis and lowered me slowly, listening with interest to my whimpers. "Put your mouth on mine. And keep it there," he ordered. When I did so, his mouth opened slightly, and his tongue played at my lips. I responded in kind, and he wrapped his right arm around my back, ran his left hand between us, and began to mess with my nipples. That, of course, resulted in lots of twitching and squirming on my part, which rather quickly resulted in considerable twitching by one of his parts; ah, yeah, the part that was in me. The arm around me held me firm when I tried to pull away, and his fingers on my nipples seemed to be connected directly to my arousal. I rocked and clenched, and he led me along the edge of climax until tears stood in my eyes. Then he lifted me as if I weighed nothing and rather firmly deposited my cervix on the tip of his cock, and I found I was quite aroused enough to enjoy it. And come. And aroused enough to have a touch of synesthesia--it felt to me as if he and I had one big orgasm that we kept passing back and forth and for the longest time diminished not at all in the passing, but rather, expanded until we were enveloped by it, lifted, spun around and deposited back where we had begun. I had come so hard I was shaking, and his hand came up to cup and stroke the back of my head, then moved down to loosen the arm binder. I carefully moved my arms forward, and his hand massaged my right arm, then his left arm wrapped closely around me and his hand rubbed my left arm. 

I lay my head on his right shoulder and ran my nails gently up and down his back. "Thank you," I murmured. "That was amazing! I had synesthesia," I added.

"Indeed." He gave a little thrust with his hips, and I choked as my cervix complained. "Too much?" he asked.

"I'm afraid so, for the moment." I sat up, and realized that he may have come but he wasn't done. "However, I think your penis needs attention now. Is there something else I can do?"

He inclined his head. "Clean me with your mouth, please." 

I slowly pulled myself off his penis, keeping my eyes on his face, so that he could watch my expressions, and sank to my knees. Amazing that I didn't just fall. He shifted in his seat to ease my access to him, then brushed my right cheek with his fingers, and the intimacy of that touch brought a lump to my throat. 

He had come quite substantially and now that I had uncorked things, liquid was dripping off his balls, so I began with them. 

"Ah!..." I looked up, startled. He added, "Lovely; I did not expect you to start there."

"It's the lowest point, and I should miss as little ejaculate as possible in my cleaning." His penis jerked, and shed any trace of softness. I grinned at him; "I'm happy that pleases you." The heavy-lidded look he gave me made me gasp. I hurriedly returned to the task before me, taking each orb carefully in my mouth and teasing it clean, becoming more and more aware of how very good we tasted. I like sex; I like the taste of come--some more than others, and what I was experiencing now was damned tasty. As I moved upward, (stopping to remove the occasional pubic hair from my tongue), I found myself regretting that I was insufficiently flexible to clean myself...But by the time I was most of the way up his shaft, his cock started oozing fluid again. I slowed and directed my attention to the sensitive area at the base of the glans, and the flow increased. I licked my way up onto the glans and took it in my mouth, hearing his intake of breath. Swirling my tongue around it, I returned to the sensitive underside.

When I returned to the glans and took it deeper into my mouth, Benedict scruffed me by the hair at my nape, pulled me further onto his tool, and came again. I choked, but this climax was nearly dry, so I didn't drown. I felt his hand stroke my hair. "That's enough for now." I sat back on my heels, a question in my eyes. Still pretty hard and not slackening(!) he rose and went to a chest in one corner. Hunkering down, he pushed up the lid, pulled out a small case, opened it and held it out. It contained two small knives. "I want to cut you. May I?" My pulse hammered and my mouth went dry, making it hard to get my question out, but I managed. "What do you clean the cuttings with?" 

He tilted his head and his eyes narrowed; I think I had surprised him. "Grain alcohol. Why?"

My "Yes. Please," rode right over his “Why?”. 

He smiled slightly and I saw heat in his eyes. "You like alcohol in the cuts?"

I licked my lips nervously. "Yes....the cutting is always really intense, but the alcohol burn is kind of a reward." I looked at him. "Is that ok?"

He tilted his head, and I saw a furrow between his brows. "Why wouldn't it be?"

"Sometimes the dominant or sadist hasn't wanted me to enjoy any of it."

"Both selfish and short-sighted," he replied.

"Well, I thought so," I shrugged, and looked around. "Where do you want me?" 

Benedict rose and strode to the map table, laying the knife case to one side. He stacked a number of maps from the table on top of others, gave me a quick once-over and pulled one of several blocks out from under the table. "Stand on this," and a quilt from atop his bedding, "And lie on this." He came up behind me and his erection, already full again, touched me just above crotch level. His hand encouraged me forward and down. He stepped away a moment and returned with clean rags that he placed by my shoulder, moving one of them aside to rest the knives on. He also moved a lamp into place, then stepped back. "Spread your legs a bit," he ordered. I moved my feet to the edges of the block and felt his fingers spread my labia. A moment later, his penis moved slowly into me.

I shoved my face into the pillow and whimpered. Ah, gods! It felt so good!

"Yes," he murmured, as if reading my mind, "You feel lovely as well." Fully seated, his penis touched my cervix. I fervently hoped that my arousal would be enough to let me enjoy the sex, because the cutting was gonna be hella intense, and if I wasn't aroused enough, the cervical prodding would hurt too.

I smelled alcohol, then felt the cold of it between my spine and left shoulder blade as he prepared my skin for his knife, moving slowly in me as he did. A moment, then, "Are you ready?"

"As much as I can be," I replied. I felt the blade touch my skin, then breathed in as he cut a shallow line. That cut completed, he lifted the blade and reset it, and cut. I rammed my face into the pillow and keened. I felt him wipe the blood away. A third cut, and I screamed, careful to direct it into the pillow. I'd already figured out that he wanted as little noise as possible. Another cut and I tensed, screamed and relaxed. Two more, with me trying to keep the noise down, and he asked, as he wiped off the blood, "Would you like a break?"

"Please?" Yeah. Intense.

He placed the blotting cloth over the cuts and a moment later a cup appeared on the table in front of my eyes. "Water?"

"Thank you!" I raised myself to my elbows, took the cup and drained it; I hadn't realized how thirsty I was. I put the cup back down, and resumed my position. 

Benedict cleaned the blood off the cuts again, placed the knife, cut, and I keened. And in my mind, I could see the knife move, leaving an inoffensive-looking white/pink line that filled to overflowing with blood in the next second or two. And my arousal was growing rapidly. Almost surprising, that. I thought it was partly that I had only had two doms cut me while fucking me, and they had both been the sort who preferred emotional distress from the sub, and additionally had contempt for submissives. That was not a good match for me; I needed to feel valued. This man was appreciative of my submission to him. And our pheromones seemed to be compatible both directions. He smelled wonderful, and that's more than a shower can provide when one is having sex. One gets a little aroused and a body's pheromones perk right off them. And I had felt him lean closer and heard him inhale, so I was smelling good to him as well. Another cut, and he fucked me slowly for a minute or so, and I groaned when he quit. 

"You won't come until I say you can, will you?" he asked me, and suddenly I was dizzy. And a lot hornier. Oh, crap!

"Damn you…sir! You just made it so much harder!”

A soft chuckle. "As your response just made me."

"Yeah, I noticed that." He stroked, and I groaned again.  


"But you won't, will you?" he repeated.

"I will do my (groan) best not to disappoint you," I replied.

And he cut, and I screamed into the pillow, and he cut…and somewhere in there, my endorphins took over, and it didn't hurt so much. Mind you, it didn't quit hurting, but the cuts became somehow easier to bear, though sharp was still the center of my universe. Of course, in spite of the pain, or possibly because of it, I was quite aroused. And he finished with the cutting, and I felt him lean closer, and then he ran his tongue across the cutting, licking up the blood.

"No! Don't do that!" I panicked.

"Why not?" he breathed into my ear.

"I've been fucking random soldiers for three months, sometimes without a sleeve! I could have caught any sort of blood-borne disease from them!"

I felt a little twitch, perhaps of surprise. "You are concerned for my health?"

"Yes," I replied. "Is that so odd?" And then I groaned; he was stroking again, and now that my panic had diminished, I felt again the vast arousal that had been growing in me. "Ah, gods! Can I come now?"

"Not yet."

"Why not?"

"I would like to accompany you." His breathing was heavier and his stroking speeded up.

"Ah, gods!" I snarled in frustration, then tried to concentrate on gripping and loosening my cunt's grip on his penis to help him along. Damn it! I just knew he was holding back, getting himself worked up, just like he had done with our first sex.

Then I heard him groan, long and protracted, and the whispered command "now!" came welcome as any order in years, and I buried my face in the pillow to scream and my climax rampaged over me, my cunt tying itself in knots around his shaft as he hammered me. And then his teeth closed on my shoulder, and I was still so aroused that it kicked me into another orgasm that seemed to spread out from the bite rather than my nether regions. Somewhere in the middle of all this, I felt his penis twitch, and he came, though much less ejaculate than before. He groaned and half-collapsed on me and we lay there a moment, panting.

"Lord Benedict? Are you all right?" came a voice through the tent flap.

"Indeed, I am, Rolli. Far better than I had expected to be. Thank you for checking."

"Me, too!" I whispered, and heard the ghost of a chuckle as he pulled out of me. A moment later, he leaned up my body again, and I hissed as an alcohol-soaked cloth moved across the cuts, cleaning away the blood. He lay the cloth crumpled over the cuts on my back and poured more alcohol and it burned enough I had to use the pillow again to muffle a scream. I wiggled my ass, and he asked if I was all right. "Oh, yes! My butt is all I have in position to pet you with. I love the burn!"

"Even if you scream?" I felt him wipe again, remove the cloth, then tape a bandage over the cuts. That finished, he grasped me by the waist. "Let me help you up," he suggested, and brought me to a standing position, then lifted me down to the ground. His hand caressed my cheek, and he looked rather solemn. "Thank you for letting me draw your blood," he began. "After a day in which my entire focus is making the blood of the enemy run unto death, it is quite…comforting, to be able to allow myself to stop it as well."

"I would be willing, any time," I replied. And swayed.

He reached out and gripped my shoulder. "You need rest. Badly," he said. "Come help me lay out the bedroll." We did, and he gestured to it.

"Ah," I ducked my head, " I think I need to clean up first or your bedding is gonna smell like sex." He shot a glance at me, then shook his head wonderingly. "I rarely forget that." He grasped my shoulders with his damaged arm, bent and ran his fingers into my vagina. I gasped at the swift invasion. Withdrawing them, he licked judiciously, in his eyes a suspicion of amusement.  
"Our juices form a fortuitous mix, I think." He looked at my stunned expression and smiled slightly. "I appreciate the flavor as well. And any man who says he has not tasted his own ejaculate is likely a liar. But extended...sampling... often leads to arousal in at least one partner, and both of us need rest, though it will be a while before I can join you. Take this," he handed me a cloth, "water is over there." 

At the basin, I wet the cloth, automatically ran it over my face, and it came away bloody. "What the hell?" I muttered, and rinsed it out in the basin, wrung it out again, and took another puzzled swipe, and suddenly remembered getting sprayed by the dying horseman. I stared at the cloth and giggled.

"What?" asked Benedict.

"Gods! You should have pointed me at the water sooner," I replied, running the cloth over my throat and chuckling. 

I turned and looked at him; he was looking amused and vaguely embarrassed. "I rather thought it added to the experience," he explained.

A spurt of laughter escaped me. I shook my head, grinned at him and went back to the task at hand. I cleaned myself as well as I could and used the towel near the basin. "Where should I dump the water?" I asked him.

"Just leave it; I'll have someone take care of it," he replied.  
I found another washcloth size cloth by the basin and took it with me to catch whatever came out later. I placed the cloth in my crotch, crawled into the bedding, put my head on the pillow, and looked up at him.

"Sleep well," he brushed fingers across my forehead.

"You, too," I muttered, and fell off the edge of consciousness.  


  
Lord Benedict woke as night turned to the very first of gray dawn. He withdrew his arm from around his bed partner; she didn’t even twitch. Sleeping well, at least. She had been quite entertaining last night, entering with enthusiasm into all his desires, even the cutting. A memory surfaced, and he loosened the bandage over the it. And shook his head. Of all the things he could have carved into her skin, why had he chosen one of his lilies? He ran his fingers over her fine-grained skin, startled when they touched a chain. Ah, that’s right, she had a locket; he would see what it contained, if anything. He carefully removed it from around her neck as she continued to sleep soundly, then rose, donned singlet and trews, and moved to his armchair.  
Opening the locket, he was startled to see a familiar face. Familiar, but not quite clear who the young man reminded him of, besides the woman in his bed. On the other exposed leaf of the locket was the face of quite a lovely blonde woman, humorous, intelligent, looking as though she had just shared a joke with the viewer. Back to the young man, he noted the same qualities as in the woman, along with a deep steadiness. Ah, yes, there it was in her, as well, just not as noticeable, as he had not been looking for that. A bad habit for a man, being blind to unexpected qualities in a woman. It had nearly gotten him killed more than once. He opened the other section of locket and his eyebrow rose. Julian? What the hell was an image of Julian doing in this young woman’s locket? He glanced down at her and saw her awake and watching him. A suspicion began to form in his brain.  


  
When I woke in the morning, it took a moment to orient myself. I turned over, not sure if I was ready to wake yet, and saw Lord Benedict seated in his armchair, dressed in singlet and knee-length trews, one ankle resting on the other knee, inspecting the locket I had been wearing, a thoughtful expression on his face. As I watched, an eyebrow rose and his expression turned to surprise. Brow furrowed, he looked over at me, and caught me looking at him.

"Mala, come tell me about your locket."

I rose and sat, naked, where he indicated on one of the arms of his chair. I was surprised, as I leaned toward the locket, to see that his damaged arm, holding the locket chain, did so by twining it among finger buds near the healed end. Huh. Interesting. 

"O.K.; this blonde woman is my mother, Amelia. The black-haired man on the facing leaf is my father, Jason. They died when I was six. This woman with the amber eyes is my grandmother, Felicia. She raised me after their deaths. The drawing is of the man who abducted her and made her pregnant with my father. Grandmother was a fine artist; I wish I were as good."

"Fine work indeed. You look a lot like your father.”

“And like grandmother. And like…that man.” I couldn’t help using Grandmother’s name for him.

Here." Benedict produced a card deck, riffled through, and handed me a playing card with a unicorn on a green background. I looked at him, puzzled. He waved his hand like, look at it. I turned it over. The other side of the card was a portrait of the man my grandmother had drawn, longish black hair, handsome face, white scale armor. Then he moved, I gasped, and Lord Benedict plucked the card out of my fingers and waved his hand across the face of it.

"That's him! Who is he?"

Benedict sighed. "That, sweetheart, is my dear brother Julian."

"Oh." 

He glanced at me. "What?"

"He has a nasty reputation among the camp followers."

"No doubt."  


"Grandmother didn't like him much, either," I observed.

He sighed. "We shall revisit this later. I have a duty I cannot put off any longer." His face looked sad as he rose.

I rose with him. "What is the matter, sir?" 

He ignored my question. "Mala, would you please hail the door guard and tell him that I need help with my armor?"

"I could help you with that," I offered.

Once more I got the irritated glance followed by the thoughtful gaze. "Thank you," he replied, and moved toward the pile of armor at the back of the tent. I followed and helped as needed, even supplying an industrial strength shoelace from my pouch for the defective tie. As we finished, he sighed again. "I wish I were only showing myself for the benefit of morale. The men of this army did well yesterday, and I need to make clear my appreciation." He halted for a moment, then continued, "To begin to do so." 

His glance met mine momentarily. "My aide, who helps me arm, did not return last night. He may merely be wounded, but as seriously as he took being in my service, I suspect he is dead." 

Oh. Crap. Well, nothing ventured..."Lord Benedict?" I said. "I hope with all my heart that you find him alive, and well as possible; but, should you not, please consider my application to take his place."

He gave me a grumpy, puzzled look, "Why would you wish to?"

"Fair question, I guess," I replied. "Well, I loved the sex, and would like to get more of that." I shrugged. "If you were into it. If not, I would still wish to serve you. I enjoy being of service and would like to be in service to you; you seem comfortable accepting service graciously."

His expression was hard to read. "Graciously…"

"You accepted my help with your armor twice, accepted my 'fix'--the lace--and were consistently courteous about it. You thanked me. I need a way to feed myself and a place to sleep. I'd rather run errands and do whatever else you need than spend my days charging people for sex--"

His head tilted at my emphasis. "You don't like charging people for sex?"

"Not really. I like sex; I'd like to see everybody have enough good sex without having to pay for it, though I’ve discovered some people I just don’t want to have sex with, and there are too many for me to make them all happy. But your half-brother Dalt didn't leave me much choice. The Headmistress did encourage me to try to find non-sex work. I think she knew there wasn't enough of that around loose for me to support myself, but figured I'd be more likely to believe it if I found it out for myself." I shrugged. "True, that." I shrugged. So; I'm up for a change in duties."

"Hmm," he said, then turned to go out. "Stay here until I return," he added as he passed through the tent flap, dropping it behind him.

I experienced my usual knee-jerk reflex to being ordered to do something. Kept me from being a True Submissive, I had been informed on more than one occasion. I took a slow, deep breath to center myself. If I really wanted to work for Lord Benedict, I'd better learn to suck it up, because I doubted he had either the time or the inclination to deal with a brat.

I looked around to see if there was tidying to be done. If I was wanting to clutter up Lord Benedict's life, I'd better make it clear that I could work without micromanagement.   


Lord Benedict rode his horse slowly through camp, heading back to his tent, grieving even as he spoke to his soldiers still living and hale. Any loss of a soldier weighed on him, inevitable, yes, but no life to be spent needlessly. And some deaths tore his heart more than others; he had talked to a veteran he had worked with for years who, fighting alongside his partner, had managed to prevail, but his partner, his lover, had not been so lucky. Benedict, in his three millennia, had lost a number of lovers he cared deeply about, and he grieved with his veteran. And Benedict himself had lost two lieutenants whose counsel he found wise as well as both his aide and his aide-in-training.

He sighed. Well, he had an eager applicant back in his tent; though how long she would stay eager without sex from him remained to be seen. But she was Amber stock, so he had a responsibility to her as long as she chose to stay and learn. What shape that took, that was for the future.

It was several hours before Lord Benedict returned, looking grim, and older than he had the previous night. Not good, I thought. "Mala, come help me get out of this armor.” As I untied points and helped shift armor bits, I ventured, "You got bad news about your aide?"

Lord Benedict lifted breast and backplate over his head and laid them in the corner. When he turned to me, his face wore a mixture of anger and grief strong enough to make me take a step back. "Not only was Elner, my aide, killed, so was Karel, the young man I was training as a backup aide." And Lieutenants Aini and Delastena.”

“I am sorry.” He seemed to take that as I meant it.

"So," he added, fixing me with a slightly hostile stare, "you are getting your chance." As he moved to his chair, he noticed the tidy arrangement of paper, quills and other writing paraphernalia. He halted, looked around, saw the neatly stowed bedroll and the picked-up-but-where-does-it-go pile and gave a short nod. "Thank you for the housekeeping."

"Please let me know where to stow the questionable stack—or you can give me permission to go into chests and try to figure it out myself." I got the crane look, and hastened to elaborate.

"This is your personal tent; there might be items that are private, that you might not wish me to have access to."

He rose and moved to the three chests in one corner of the tent and knelt before them. He opened each in turn, touched the locks, glanced at the interiors briefly and closed them. It hurt a bit that he thought I had gone into them; sure, I was curious about their contents, but I was in sort of a mythological environment, and myths often have dire consequences for snoops. And it was his stuff, none of my business unless he chose to make it so. I schooled my face to impassivity and waited. He rose and returned to his seat. 

"Thank you for respecting my privacy," he said as he sat.

"But you thought I hadn't," I pointed out. Then, curious, I asked, "Did you think I'd draw attention to snooping I'd done?"

"It has happened before," he replied.

I couldn't help it, I had to ask: "Are you satisfied that I did not go through your belongings?"

"Yes," he replied, and cocked his head, studied me for a moment, and added, "Would you like to know how?" 

"If you are willing to tell me."

He held out his hand. Just below the tips of his fingers rested three threads. "These were still affixed to the locks of the chests. And," he added, "the contents were all in their proper places."

"You must have really good positional memory," I offered.

"Yes, I do seem to." 

I took a deep breath. "So…why did you share your tells with me?"

He reflected a moment. "Because of my upbringing--and family history--I do not trust easily, but I am trying to keep in mind that you weren't born into the…" he searched for a phrase.

"Byzantine family?" I prodded.

His lips twitched slightly. "Snake pit…that I was. Your phrase may actually be closer to fact, mine to emotion.” 

"There's a difference?" I queried.

"At times; I seem to attract the company of my younger relatives as they are learning their way. And I find that I trust them more, in general. But your situation is different enough that I forget that you are family as well."

Well, that was sure as hell true. And it was really going to suck if the fact that we were blood relations was going to keep him from having a sexual/D/s relationship with me. Well, if I could make a place as his aide, I'd at least have the service connection. I might have to settle for that.


End file.
